


Flat On Your Face

by liptonrm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Grumpy Castiel, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Dean, Injury, M/M, Schmoop, Slapstick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:09:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liptonrm/pseuds/liptonrm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is injured on a hunt. It all goes about as well as you'd expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean was an awful patient and Cas was a shitty nurse. It was like they were made for each other or something.

Dean, like a chump, sprained his ankle. One minute he was running through the woods after a bugbear and the next his foot got caught in a gopher hole and BAM he’d wrenched his ankle six ways to Sunday.

“Did you lose your shoe?” Sam asked him over the phone like a jerk. He could laugh it up, he was miles away and out of the line of fire.

“Asshole.” Dean absolutely did not pout, propped up in the motel room bed, ankle swollen to twice its normal size. “I’m dying over here.”

“Sure you are,” Sam said and Dean could see Sam’s ‘I’m such a bitch that I’m laughing at my poor, injured big brother’ face as clear as if the bastard were standing right in front of him. “Did you at least gank the monster?”

“Of course we did,” Dean blustered. The silence on the other end of the line stretched long and Dean finally sighed. “Fine, Cas took care of business while I laid on the ground. Happy?”

“Did he pick you up in his arms and carry you back to the car like your very own Prince Charming? Remember, Dean, nice girls don’t put out on the first date.”

“Such an asshole,” Dean muttered and hung up on the sound of Sam’s obnoxious cackling. That little shit thought he was hilarious.

Dean tossed his cell onto the bed just in time for the motel room door to slam open. Cas stomped into the room behind it, as pissy as Dean had ever seen him.

“Here,” Cas proclaimed, abrupt, and threw the shopping bag at the bed. Dean hissed, involuntary, when it landed on his elevated ankle.

“A little help here?” Dean asked as he tried to use his uninjured left foot to pull the bag up the bed without dislodging the ankle that now throbbed in double time. Cas was shitty enough about the limitations and requirements of his own now-mortal body, it figured he wouldn’t put up with Dean’s.

Cas rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He knelt down at the end of the bed and grabbed an Ace bandage out of the bag.

Dean bit down on a yelp when Cas grabbed his sore ankle and yanked it closer to him. “Careful there, dude,” Dean said through clenched teeth.

“Stop acting like a child.” Cas wrapped the bandage tight, movements short, every jostle sending a spike of pain right up Dean’s leg.

Cas slammed a bottle of ibuprofen down on the night stand. “Take some of these and go to sleep,” he ordered and stalked into the bathroom.

“I’m surrounded by assholes,” Dean groaned. He threw back a couple pills and tried to get comfortable. This was going to be awesome.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean had to pee. His mouth tasted like shit, his ankle throbbed and his bladder warned him in no uncertain terms that if he didn't get his ass up he was going to wet the goddamn bed. And wouldn't that just be the cherry on top of the shit sundae that had been the past twelve hours.

Dean groaned and stared at the ceiling, just enough sunlight slipped in around the curtains to reveal the constellations of water stains. He stared up for a long moment until his bladder started screaming and he knew sleepy time was officially over. He pushed himself into a sitting position, his back twinging the entire way. Motel mattresses hated him and everything he stood for. He glanced over at the other bed where Cas lay wrapped in a tight blanket burrito, a mess of dark hair poking out at the top. Dean rubbed a hand over his face and grimaced. He'd better get on with it. Fuck his life.

He hissed as he pulled his leg free of the blankets; each jostle sent an extra throb of pain straight through him. He breathed carefully as he lined his feet up on the floor, right ankle noticeably larger than the left. He hated sprains, they were a piddly ass injury that laid you up for days with nothing to show for it. With a grimace he hoisted himself up onto his feet and nearly lost his shit. He breathed in a sharp hiss through his teeth, forehead knocking into the wall by the bed. Mother _fucker_ that hurt. He held himself against the wall, his weight balanced between his left leg and his hands. He was sure it hadn't hurt that much last night.

He nearly pushed himself back onto the bed but his damn bladder just would not shut up. He turned his head and looked at the bathroom door, all the way across the room. He could do this, he could make it. He just couldn't put any weight on his ankle. It was cool.

He pivoted on his left foot and took a deep breath, left hand against the wall, right arm held out for balance, core of his body up straight. He made it one hop, throbbing right leg stuck ridiculously out in front of him, then two, the wall his steady support. But then the wall stopped, an ocean of open space stretching in front of him, and he was on his own. He took another breath and carefully found his balance. He wobbled on the third hop but made it. He could do this. He was the hopping master.

In a remarkable turn of events that would have shocked no one, he over-shot his next hop. His arms pinwheeled in the air, a desperate attempt to keep his balance, but that battle was already lost. He toppled backwards, limbs flailing, and landed with a yelp on the floor.

“Ow.” He was on his back, wedged into the narrow space between the bed and the wall. He was buried in the blankets from his bed, apparently he'd pulled them down with him in the fall. It was possible he needed to take a second and regroup. That hopping strategy maybe wasn't his best plan ever.

Sudden panic shot through him and he grabbed at his boxers. Oh thank God, they were dry. If he'd pissed himself he might actually die of embarrassment.

He laid on the floor and thought through his options. Somehow he had to get back on his feet and make it to the bathroom, all without waking up Cas. He really didn't want to wake up Cas. Dean might be an asshole but he wasn't going to be a burden.

He was just about to give up and wriggle across the floor like some kind of frigging worm, when someone grabbed the blankets and ripped them off of him. Cas glared down, hair sleep-crazy, expression wrathful.

“Morning,” Dean said with a little wave and a grin. He was never going to live this down.

“You are impossible,” Cas growled and reached down, hoisting Dean upright with one good, solid tug.

“Fuck,” Dean grunted as his sprained ankle ricocheted off of Cas's thigh and then bounced on the floor. He breathed through his nose for a second, eyes closed, and willed the pain back down. Cas draped Dean's arm around his shoulder and proceeded to drag him to the bathroom.

“Next time, ask for help,” Cas growled and dropped him down onto the closed toilet.

“Sure thing, buddy,” Dean said as the bathroom door banged shut. His head fell backwards and he closed his eyes, taking a second for himself before getting on with the business at hand. Seriously, fuck his life.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean's day got steadily worse. 

It started with a glare over breakfast choices. Dean had a busted ankle so if he wanted a frigging sausage biscuit and some hashbrowns from Mickey D's then Cas could damn well go and get them and quit it with the not-so-silently-judging-you act. Then, after a disappointing breakfast of granola and yogurt, it progressed to Cas “helping” him rewrap his ankle in the pissiest way possible. A troll would've been gentler about it.

Dean got it, he did. It was a shitty situation and he didn't want to deal with it anymore than Cas clearly did. Everything sucked and Dean wouldn't have blamed him if Cas got the hell out of Dodge. But if he was going to hang around he didn't have to be an asshole about absolutely everything.

They spent an hour or two of relative peace in the middle of the day, tension eased by the cable gods and a lucky _Fresh Prince of Bel-Air_ marathon. The Carlton Dance was the ultimate cure for grouchiness. Dean watched TV, foot propped up on very pillow in the room and a few from the car, while Cas did whatever the hell Cas did when he played on his phone. There was something like peace between them.

It all went to hell when one of those court shows came on the air. Dean was half-asleep, the pain in his ankle reduced to a dull, easily-ignored hum, pretzels and peanut butter a comfortable weight in his stomach. The TV hadn't really registered for the past half-hour, at least, the laugh track a soothing white noise in the background. He was well on his way to a full-fledged nap when an empty pill bottle flew through the air and hit him square in the middle of his forehead.

Dean jerked, ankle yelling at the sudden movement. “What the fuck?” He startled.

“Change the channel,” Cas demanded, eyes giving his phone screen a death glare.

“I … what?” Dean blinked and looked from the people yapping on screen to Cas's pinched profile. He rolled his eyes. “It's just Judge Judy, man. Whatever.” He tossed the remote in Cas's direction. “Watch whatever you want.”

Cas shut off the television with a vicious stab of his finger, head turning to fix his glare right at Dean. “That's not the point.

Dean took a deep breath. He was so over the asshole side of Cas. “Then what is the fucking point?” He spread his hands, eyes wide. “Come on, out with it. You've had something stuck in up your ass all day.”

Cas unfolded himself from the bed. Damn he could loom with the best of them “The 'fucking' point is that you are thoughtless and inconsiderate and I am done catering to your every whim.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait. My whims?” Dean's hands flexed around a handful of cheap polyester comforter as he resisted the urge to get right up in Cas's face. “Sorry to break it to you, buddy but, but I'm not the one walking around all boo hoo hoo everything is awful because I'm stuck hanging around some poor, stupid, broken human. FYI, humans break. We bleed, we scream, we shit, and sometimes we fuck up our ankles.” Dean's jaw clenched because fuck Cas and his your-injury- inconveniences-my-entire-life attitude. The asshole was stuck in the shit with the rest of them. “I didn't ask you to stick around so, hey, if a sprained ankle is too much trouble feel free to take a hike. The door's over that way.”

Cas growled, frustration and anger, and all sorts of nasty feelings he didn't used to have. He threw the remote and Dean heard it crack against the wall. “You're not getting it,” Cas gritted out and moved, legs straddling over Dean and hands grabbing his shirt, pulling their faces together. “You are not supposed to break, not when there's nothing that I can do about it. I am stuck in this awful, frail, useless body and all I can do is sit here and watch.”

“Well whoop-dee-fucking-doo.” Dean pushed up, twisting his upper body, and shoved Cas off of him. Cas rolled and ended up on his feet on the other side of the bed, like some kind of cat. Dean levered himself up off the bed, adrenaline dulling the screaming in his ankle, and stood across from Cas. Well look at that, they had their very own showdown at the Motel Who-Gives-a-Fuck.

“You know what you can do?” Dean gritted, fists clenched at his sides. “You can not be a complete and total asshole. If you're going to stick around then stop taking your fucking issues out on me. Because if I have to spend one more second dealing with your shitty attitude while I'm laid up like a chump then I'm going to shoot something.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “And if I stay you need to tell me when you need help. No more hopping around and risking further damage like an imbecile.” His voice promised a smiting if he wasn't obeyed.

“Fine!” Dean agreed, voice clipped.

“Fine.” Cas nodded, abrupt. “Now lay down before you aggravate your injury. I'm going to get supplies.

Dean collapsed back down on the bed, a pained breath hissing through his teeth. He carefully lifted his leg up and tried to not whimper while he rearranged the pillows. Going vertical might not have been his best idea ever.

“Don't forget the booze.” Dean called out as Cas opened the door.

“I won't forget the ibuprofen,” Cas replied over his shoulder. The door closed behind him with a snap.

Dean took deep breaths as his ankle throbbed. His life was riddled with jerks.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I just noticed that I totally missed a whole section of this chapter when I first posted it. I promise, this is going to make a whole lot more emotional sense.

Cas came back without the liquor but with a giant bottle of Advil and the best burger Dean had had in weeks. After they'd eaten and Dean had downed a handful of pain killers, Cas helped Dean rewrap his ankle. Surprisingly, he wasn't a complete and utter jerk about it. In fact, his hands were gentle and sure, face fixed in intense concentration.

“You know, it's not heart surgery,” Dean joked, shit-eating grin and all. 

Cas looked up, head tilted, that good old what-a-strange-species look on his face. “You mean it's not?” he asked and, with a raised eyebrow, deliberately poked Dean right in his ankle's sorest spot.

Dean winced and then laughed, hands raised in surrender. “Okay, I get it, ankle wrapping is serious business.”

“Yes it is,” Cas agreed and went back to his careful work. But there was a little grin on his face that hadn't been there before. The things Dean did to make Cas happy.

It was only a blink of time later that Dean found himself stretched out on his bed, all set and ready for some shut-eye. For the first time since his little spill, he and Cas had worked in sync, moving through each nighttime ritual with hardly a stumble. Okay, Dean might have cursed like a sailor when he banged his elbow into the bathroom door frame and Cas might have laughed at him like a bastard, but Dean's teeth were brushed and his bladder was empty--he was willing to forgive and forget.

The rustle of plastic drew Dean out of his deep and meaningful contemplation of some Iron Chef America re-run. He looked up and caught Cas looming over his bed, a familiar yellow bag in his hands.

Dean grinned. “Dude, are those for me?”

Cas shrugged, a little awkward, but his expression was pleased. “I thought you might like them, after all of the drama of the past few days.”

Dean chuckled and grabbed the M&M bag out of Cas's hands. “Forget everything else I've said today, you're the best.” He ripped into the bag and threw a handful into his mouth. “Come on, siddown,” he said around a mouthful of chocolate and peanut. “You should get in on this action.”

Cas sat down on the bed, shoulder warm next to Dean's, and stretched his legs out. Dean dumped a handful of candy into Cas's open and waiting palm, a tiny pile of bright color in his hand. Dean watched as Cas deliberately picked up a red one and popped it in his mouth, face serious as he chewed it up.

“The peanut is a good balance for the chocolate,” Cas replied as he threw a yellow one into his mouth.

Dean snorted because this was his life, having culinary discussions about drug store candy with a fallen angel. “I know, right? It's why they're my favorite.” He set the bag down in between their legs before shoving another handful into his mouth. Chocolate burst in his mouth and for that one second, all was right in Dean Winchester's world.

They sat like that for a while, chomping on candy and watching Mario Batali kick culinary ass. Cas gave the TV his whole focus, as if a reality cooking competition held the secrets to the universe. For all Dean knew, it did. The universe was a really weird place.

Dean felt his eyes begin to droop during the commercial break, not even the absurdity of Bobby Flay shilling for greek yogurt enough to keep his attention. He felt good, he had a full stomach, his ankle hardly throbbed, and he had a warm body stretched out beside him. He shifted on the bed, muscles relaxing and head nodding. Between one breath and the next the TV was switched off and he felt Cas stretch over him to turn out the light.

Dean sighed and drifted off to sleep.

~~~

Dean woke up to warmth. He stretched, eyes still closed, and sighed happily. He hadn't slept that well in a long time.

He blinked his eyes open and saw Cas sprawled on his stomach, hardly an arm's length away. His face was relaxed, turned toward Dean, softly snoring. His forehead was creased as if sleeping was the hardest kind of work.

Dean grinned, sleepy and affectionate. His hand moved, his brain a half second behind, and he watched as his fingers slipped through Cas's hair. He did it again and he sighed, Cas's hair soft between his fingers. Dean breathed deep, contentment rolling through his sleep-warm muscles. He'd had a lot of dreams about Cas, a lot of passing fantasies, things he knew he could never have in the bright light of day. But that was okay. He'd be happy to just have this.

Cas snorted, loud in the quiet room, and the moment shattered. He batted at Dean's hand and scowled, eyes still closed. Dean chuckled, low and quiet. He may never be able to admit it out loud, but Cas's stupid face was really adorable all scrunched up and annoyed. He should've been the angel of asshole cats.

“Stop it,” Cas grumbled and mashed his face into the pillow.

Dean out right laughed at that. “Come on, dude, time to get up.”

“No,” Cas declared, face buried in the pillow. He reached down and pulled the blanket up over both of their heads. “Five more minutes.”

Dean smiled wide in the muffled, golden light. He rolled over, closer to Cas's heat, and closed his eyes. That sounded perfect.

~~~

They were all packed up and ready to hit the road by the middle of the day. Dean laced his boot up as tight as it could possibly go, making his ankle throb. He'd be damned, again, if he was walking out to the car leaning on Cas's shoulder like a wilted flower. He had this.

He stood up with a grunt and a grimace. Cas watched him, eyes narrowed, from the frame of the open bathroom door. Dean reached down toward the duffle laying at the foot of the bed and Cas's glare intensified. Dean gave back as good as he got but Cas stood his ground. Dean rolled his eyes and snorted out a breath. Fine, whatever, he could let Cas do this.

He turned and limped out to the car, Cas steady behind his shoulder.

Dean leaned against the car and tilted his head up to the sky. The day was warm and the sun was bright, the best kind of day to take a drive. He thought about the road, about the hunt, about Cas warm in bed, Cas vicious and sure on the hunt, Cas there beside him, not leaving. Dean knew what he felt, what bubbled up inside him in moments like this, quiet moments when he could breathe. Maybe, just this once, Dean could take what was offered, something for himself.

Cas came and leaned beside him, so close they were almost touching. The stayed like that for a long, quiet moment, both lost in their own thoughts, content in their shared silence.

“Thanks,” Dean said, eyes still closed, head still tipped up toward the sun.

“You're welcome,” Cas replied and Dean could feel that intent gaze on his face, cutting through all of Dean's bullshit in the way it always had. 

Dean turned his head and looked, saw that rare and familiar grin on Cas's face, the one he only ever shared with Dean. Dean didn't think about his next move, the important moments were always instinct anyway. He just reached over, wrapped a hand around Cas's wrist and pulled him in. Then Dean was kissing him, soft, a thank you and a promise.

Cas pulled away and Dean's heart beat loud in his ears. He didn't know what he'd just done, didn't know how Cas would react, but Cas just stood there and blinked. Then he smiled, a look of pure happiness that Dean wasn't sure he'd ever seen before. Cas reached over, hand nestled on the soft hairs on the back of Dean's neck, and pulled him in, their mouths meeting in the space between.

A bright warm feeling surged through Dean, made him gasp into Cas's mouth. Maybe, just maybe, he could have this too.

They pulled away, breathing hard, hands still gripped together. Dean smiled and Cas chuckled, low. The both looked like idiots and Dean didn't care in the least. He pulled the keys out of his pocket and passed them into Cas's warm, waiting hand.

“Let's hit the road,” Dean said, voice gruff with all of the things he couldn't say, not yet.

“As you wish,” Cas replied, a twinkle in his eye. Dean threw his head back and laughed. That little shit knew exactly what he was doing.

Dean pulled him back in for one more kiss, laughter on both of their lips. It was going to be a good day.


End file.
